


A Girl's Most Flexible Friend

by sweettasteofbitter



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Masturbation, Other, consensual tentacle sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-18
Updated: 2017-11-18
Packaged: 2019-02-04 02:29:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12761214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweettasteofbitter/pseuds/sweettasteofbitter
Summary: A mysterious package lands in Josephine's hands. The content is not what she expects, but Josephine being Josephine, she finds a way to put it to good use anyway.





	A Girl's Most Flexible Friend

**Author's Note:**

> Alternative title: Who Wouldn't Be A Little Curious?
> 
> Yes, this is what it says on the tin. Yes, this is Josephine being consensually (lovingly?) fucked by tentacles.
> 
> Frankly, I don't know what I was thinking when I wrote this, but I promise it's actually rather sweet and in-character. I've been wanting to write a fic about Josephine's masturbation practices for ages, this scenario simply has...an extra factor.

It all begins when a misplaced package finds its way onto Josephine’s desk. She knows the whos and the whats, is the logic, and if anyone can find the owner, it’s her. The contents are to be kept an absolute secret, she is told, to warrant the privacy of the recipient.

Josephine spends an afternoon tracking down runners and couriers, questioning them about the package. No one can tell her anything, not even the dwarf who delivered it to her desk in the first place; they seem to have forgotten they were in her office that morning, and they apologize for being forgetful. Josephine talks to the runner whose route goes through Sera’s corner of the castle, lest this is a prank and itching powder will come bursting out if the package is rustled. The runner shakes her head, promising Josephine to keep an eye out for the owner. Josephine checks with all the guests and some members of the Inquisitor’s inner circle, but no one is missing anything they ordered.

Eventually, she decides to put up a notice on the door outside her office, as well as on the notice board in the tavern.

No one responds.

The package, which is wrapped in silvery gift paper and big enough to contain a large mango, moves from the top of her desk to the bottom drawer. After a month, no one has come to claim it, and Josephine forgets about it until she cleans out her desk. Immediately, her curiosity is piqued again.

It is bad form to pry, but this thing is taking up space in her desk, and it appears that no one is missing it. If it contains food, it will be spoiled by now, and she will have to clean it out. It probably isn’t a gift to a lover, for it wouldn’t have been put in her care. But what if something exclusive can be found inside? Something that could be useful to her - if not for her work, then for her personally?

Josephine takes the package, puts it under her arm along with some gifts that have been bestowed upon her by nobles over the past few days, and carries the pile to her room. She places the package in front of her on her couch, checks for any labels that she might have missed, but much like the first time she examined it, she can’t find anything.

The silvery gift wrap falls to the floor to reveal a decorated box without a lock. Josephine opens it, and to her surprise it contains a modest leather pouch and a thin booklet of which the cover reads ‘manual.’ Josephine takes the pouch out of the box and opens the manual to reveal the title page…and promptly breaks down into a coughing fit.

“W…what?” she mumbles incredulously, and reads the words again to be certain that her eyes aren’t deceiving her. Who in the castle even _ordered_ this? It couldn’t have been cheap, for this is very specific, and highly illusive magic. Is someone playing with her, watching her right now and cracking up at her reaction? She looks up, but her curtains are closed, and so is her door. She doesn’t notice any malign shadows or prying eyes, so she reverts her attention to the contents of the box.

The booklet is a bad translation from Tevene, but Josephine can still make out most of the text’s intentions. It informs her that the pouch contains completely safe pleasure tentacles designed to be as accommodating to the body as possible. She reads that Tamassrans under the Qun use this sometimes, if their clients have certain preferences, and that it is popular in certain layers of Tevinter nobility.

(Josephine quickly makes the mental note never to broach this subject with Dorian.)

She shakes her head. She knows of peculiar sex practices, but has never engaged in them herself, for various reasons. She is not a stranger to toys; she owns some and uses them whenever she is in the mood, but this is something different entirely.

Josephine isn’t sure how to proceed. It would be downright embarrassing to discuss this with anyone else, even Leliana. She can’t dispose of it easily: what if people trace the thing back to her? Or worse, even, catch her while she tries to get rid of it? The very idea makes her face grow red.

In the end, she decides to stow the pouch safely away in her closet. When she closes the door, a strange tingle creeps up her spine.

Over the course of a week, the weather changes.

A pleasantly warm breeze settles blows through the castle, and Josephine hears many remarks about spring gracing them with its return. It is the first warm sunlight she has felt on her face in more than a year, and it puts a welcome lightness in her step.

It isn’t until one evening, when she opens her wardrobe to pull out one of her lighter dresses, that her eyes fall upon the pouch again.

She’s been so tired lately, has barely had any time for herself, and her curiosity regarding this object persists. Her fingers reach out, but stop halfway, hesitant. Its call is a sweet, illicit song. It’s her own choice to follow or ignore it, but she is tempted to do the former. It’s a shame that it’s just standing there, unused, and here is no harm in trying, is there?

Josephine lets out a single breath and makes her decision to follow the call of her needs, right there.

Naturally, she doesn’t rush in. She skims the manual, then reads it more thoroughly, just to make sure she hasn’t missed anything. There are suggestions in the text that do not seem at all outlandish to her - in fact, they are unusually inspirational. Before she knows it, she finds herself undoing the buttons of her blouse.

Josephine undresses herself, gives herself an approving glance in the mirror, and dons her dressing gown. The dark blue silk slides over her bare skin, a ritual she has come to embrace when she is feeling playful like this. There have been times when she didn’t even bother to close it and make a knot of the cord. Tonight, however, she does.

She sits down on the bed, and puts down the pouch in front of her crossed legs. She hums nervously; she is equal parts excited and scared, and perhaps also a little embarrassed. After all, this a magical being with some degree of sentience, which is all sorts of new to her. She eases her worries by reminding herself that although this is magic, so are the runes that keep the Skyhold baths warm, and those have never harmed anyone.

Josephine carefully offers her hand to the pouch as she would one of Skyhold’s cats.

One curious purple tentacle comes peeking out of the leather, seeking her fingers. Josephine gasps gently and touches it, full of wonder. The feeling is quite unlike anything she has ever felt; smooth, flexible, and surprisingly warm. It happily curls its way around her wrist and nudges the sleeve of her dressing gown. Josephine giggles, stroking the thing with her knuckles. She notices that it doesn’t stop moving, and that it leaves a strange but pleasant tingling sensation wherever it touches her skin.

A second tentacle joins the first, and Josephine watches it slowly sliding up her calf. The tip draws elaborate patterns up to her knee, and it makes the tiny hairs on her body stand to attention. There is no way both of these things were hidden inside the pouch, for there is no space to properly hide their full length; there must be some different kind of magic at play here that makes the pouch bigger on the inside.

The first two arms bring a third friend, and it brushes up against her ankle, up to her knee, not going further just yet. Josephine has read that there can be six arms total, if that is what the user desires. It seems…excessive. She also understands that this is a slow process, starting with elaborate foreplay, the magic designed to gain as much pleasure as possible, and created to make everyone involved feel at ease with what they’re doing.

Still, as much as she appreciates the slow pace, her mind has started running with possibilities, and she shivers as flashes of movements and positions fill her. There is something incredibly enticing about the prospect of activities that she is incapable of pulling off on her own. Her heart starts beating harder with excitement, and an insistent pounding settles between her legs. She rearranges herself on the bed, leaning back on her elbows, her dressing gown riding up her thighs.

The first tentacle has worked itself up to her middle, its tip swaying back and forth to get Josephine’s attention, and when it has what it wants, it taps the fastening of her dressing gown twice.

“Oh, do you want to do this for me?” She says, amused that she appears to be talking to the thing now.

With surprisingly deft movements, it tugs at the knot, quickly undoing it. Josephine’s dressing gown falls open to reveal her belly. The tentacle repeats the tapping motion against a spot just above her navel, and Josephine realizes that it is a way to ask for consent, because it sensed she is a stickler for that, but she could not have predicted that this is how it would manifest itself.

“By all means, please continue.”

So it does. It climbs, rubbing against the swell of her breast, which makes her shudder. Her breasts have always been incredibly sensitive, and this is a very novel, overwhelming sensation that is quite different from the warmth of her own hands.

The arm continues upwards and slides the silk off her shoulder. It nuzzles (there really isn’t another term for it, for it is incredibly tender) her neck, and Josephine brushes her cheek against it.

Simultaneously, the tentacle at her knee slowly dances up her thigh, teasing. Josephine wobbly balances herself on one elbow and reaches down with her hand, strokes the tip, then down, feeling it settle against her palm.

“Are you getting something out of this?” She wonders out loud as she strokes up and down, and the tentacle pulses against her skin. “Is that a yes, or are you merely pretending to make me feel better?”

It shies away from her hand at that remark, as though it feels guilty. Its sibling near Josephine’s face provides a clever distraction to help out; its tip goes _tap tap_ against her chin, wanting to slip against her mouth, but Josephine’s mental reaction is apparently so visceral that it immediately calls the retreat.

“Sorry, I’m not sure if…”

 _Maker help her, she feels the need to_ apologize _to this thing for not feeling comfortable with having it near her mouth._

Josephine rebalances herself, and the tentacle retreats to her neck, giving her the space she needs. She feels an unaccounted for sensation against her chest. She looks down, and there is a flash of purple as a fourth participant gently fondles her breasts, sliding over peaking nipples and stretch marks.

It’s speeding up, now, the two tentacles paying attention to her legs drawing delicious patterns against her thighs, then swirling up to let the tips stroke her hipbones, her stomach. It’s strange how at peace she is, and the lingering touches against the soft curve of her belly make her feel very beautiful and remarkably at ease with what she’s doing.

Josephine throws back her head and laughs headily. This is absurd; it is absolutely, positively _ridiculous_ …but it also makes her feel incredibly _good_ , and she begins to wonder why she ever doubted whether she would even enjoy this, or thought that six arms would be excessive.

The tentacle that was at her right hipbone moments before, taps just above her pubis, twice.

“H-hold on,” Josephine breathes, her tongue clumsy with desire.

Her head hits the mattress with a thud. She wriggles her arms out of her sleeves so that she’s completely naked.

Josephine reaches down, takes the patient tentacle in her hand, strokes it a couple of times, and pushes it between her legs. It’s almost endearing how eager to please it is. It’s inquisitive, its tip trying to find her most pleasurable spots, the thicker parts brushing against her upper inner thigh as the ensemble tries to create some friction to counteract Josephine’s soaking wetness. Josephine stretches her hands above her head to find some leverage at the headboard. She spreads her legs further apart, shaking with delight.

Oh, but she does love this. If had known about the existence and possibilities of these things before, she would have indulged much sooner.

The magic instinctively feels where it is needed, and where it isn’t. The moment Josephine thinks about wanting something inside of her, needing her new favorite toy to take her fully, completely, she is instantly filled up. Her eyes shoot open; the thickness of it is same as two of her own fingers, but it reaches deeper with ease, and her body produces wet, sloppy sounds every time the tentacle dives back in. Josephine moans, and the noise is instantly followed by a smile.

Sweet Andraste, it’s _everywhere_ , pleasure stemming from more places than Josephine has ever felt before, and it’s happening all at once.

She moves her hand down over sliding arms and smooth surfaces. Her fingers comfortably find her clit, and even there she can feel just how slick she is. Her hips buck the moment she touches herself, and she can also feel just how _close_ she is.

Her fingers pick up the pace, and her pleasure builds, and builds, until everything gathers up, hot and heavy, and Josephine comes harder than she has in years. She pulls up her knees, crying out and trembling from head to toe as she rides the waves of pleasure.

(The tentacle near her face strokes her cheek throughout it all.)

When she comes down from her ecstasy, she stares up at the ceiling, panting. She brings a hand in front of her mouth, slightly embarrassed of how loud her breathing is. She lies there, legs spread, eyes closed, happy that she dared to conduct this experiment. She smiles, again. Oh Maker, she really needed this.

Two tentacles nudge her, trying to make her move.

“What, really?” Josephine mumbles. She is still tingling _everywhere_ , and her limbs are fatigued, but she knows there are so many things still undiscovered.

That deserves her another nudge.

“Well then,” Josephine laughs to herself and languidly flips over onto her stomach, against her crumpled up dressing gown. She feels something stroking her behind, and she curls into it, humming.

By the time she is satiated, her skin is covered in sweat, and the soiled bed sheets stick to her torso. Time has turned into the the early hours of the morning, and she will probably be a mess tomorrow. There are some welts in her thighs and wrists that she will have to hide with her clothes or jewelry, but...in the end, it was more than worth it.

“You don’t happen to know how to prepare a bath, do you?” Josephine mumbles sleepily, turning her cheek into her pillow. Her breathing slows down, and she closes her eyes. In all her adult years, she has never felt as tired and as satisfied at the same time.

The last thing she feels before she falls into a deep, peaceful sleep, is a blanket being tucked over her exhausted body.


End file.
